


Cake in the Time of Quarantine

by waterofthemoon



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Cake, Crowley Watches Aziraphale Eat (Good Omens), Episode: Good Omens: Lockdown, First Kiss, Fluff, Good Omens 30th Anniversary, M/M, One Shot, Quarantine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23983483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterofthemoon/pseuds/waterofthemoon
Summary: Aziraphale changes his mind. Crowley comes over. There's cake! (Or, a take on "slither over and watch you eat cake.")
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 129
Collections: Good Omens Lockdown fics





	Cake in the Time of Quarantine

**Author's Note:**

> This got away from me a bit, but I'm so happy to share it with everyone! Loving the new infusion of creativity [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=quSXoj8Kob0) has brought to our fandom in these trying times. ♥

Crowley hangs up with Aziraphale, growls, and heads back to his bedroom. He thinks about setting an alarm. About letting months go by without him while the world does whatever it's going to do.

About not seeing Aziraphale. Who, apparently, doesn't want to see him.

With another growl, he stretches out on the bed and considers taking that nap early after all, just to spite Aziraphale, when the phone rings again. He doesn't even bother looking at the caller ID. "What?"

"Ah. Hello again," Aziraphale says. "I just had a thought." He seems to be waiting for Crowley to encourage him, but Crowley's not in the mood. "Right. Well, I think that perhaps, in this case, it wouldn't actually do any harm to bend the rules just a little."

Ah, there it is. Crowley lets the corner of his mouth tug up a little.

"Would it?" Aziraphale continues. "As, you know, we can't catch anything."

"Don't see what the harm would be," Crowley agrees readily, since this has been his opinion from the start. "Since it's just us. Right, then, I'm on my way."

"Excellent," Aziraphale says. "I'm—I'm looking forward to it."

This last is said so softly that Crowley's not sure he heard it at first, and with such honesty and yearning that Crowley hangs up the phone in a rush before he ruins the moment. He looks down at his bare chest and silk lounge pants and waves a hand over himself to swap it for something more appropriate, then collects two bottles of port, three cases of wine, and a few of his favorite houseplants, along with the keys to the Bentley. And then he's off, roaring down the street to Soho.

The city is uncharacteristically quiet, and he scoffs again at the idea of having a job to do, when things are like this. Not bloody likely. Anyway, they're out of that game, for the most part.

When he gets to the bookshop, the door is firmly locked, but it obliges for him anyway. The front of the shop is empty, however.

"Aziraphale?" he calls.

Aziraphale bustles in from the back room, where he keeps his tiny kitchen setup. If not for angelic influence, Crowley would have no idea how he's been managing to bake anything back there. "Crowley." It sounds like he wants to admonish him for coming, despite having extended the invitation, but is too pleased to do the job properly. Crowley grins.

A light flush takes over Aziraphale's face, and his eyes sweep over Crowley's body. "What are you wearing? It's practically indecent."

Crowley can only assume that Aziraphale means the low neckline of his black t-shirt, which he manifested while primarily thinking about how soft and enticing he wanted it to be. He paired it with skinny jeans, which are standard for his wardrobe these days but still manage to get Aziraphale sneaking looks at him anyway.

He lets his smile grow as he gives Aziraphale a once-over in return. "Clothes? Felt like dressing down a bit, I dunno. Besides," he says, with a pointed look, "I could say the same about you."

Aziraphale, who has foregone his waistcoat and bow tie to leave him in his shirtsleeves— _talk about indecency_ , Crowley thinks—tugs nervously at his braces. "Well, I rather thought—I've been quite alone in here, except for the bandits, and I—"

"Relax. You look good," Crowley says, to which Aziraphale gives him a shy, pleased smile. "Besides, we're under quarantine, right? You should live a little. You should do that anyway, come to think of it."

"Oh, I have been!" Aziraphale beckons him in, and Crowley, helpless as ever to do otherwise, follows him. He takes the opportunity to discard his sunglasses somewhere by the door; if all goes well, he won't need them for a few months. "I told you about my baking endeavors. Well."

Aziraphale gestures at a table laden with cakes, tarts, and breads in various states of consumption. Crowley lets out a low whistle.

"You weren't kidding, angel. You have been busy, haven't you?"

"As I said on the phone," Aziraphale says, "it hasn't _all_ been baking. I've been catching up on my reading backlog and revisiting some old favorites, as well. It's all been rather relaxing. But a bit—" His eyes do that skittish flit away before coming back to meet Crowley's. "A bit too quiet, truth be told." Aziraphale sits down on the sofa and pats the seat next to him. "Come, won't you sit?"

They're in a closer orbit, these days. Close enough that they can give each other little charged compliments and mean what they say; close enough that Crowley knows he's not going to be rebuffed if he tries to reach out and touch. He sits down next to Aziraphale and lets their knees knock together. Aziraphale smiles at him.

"I'm so glad you've come, my dear," Aziraphale says. "I know I said not to, at first—but I _was_ getting terribly lonely without you." He rests his hand over Crowley's, barely making contact, and Crowley turns his over and squeezes back.

"Mmm. Same here," Crowley admits. He's thought about taking up a new hobby as well, but the thought of doing things made him want to lie down and not get up for a decade, so he's stuck to plant care and starting fights on the internet. Which was fine, at first, but the reality of not doing things also made him want to lie down and not get up due to the extreme, insufferable boredom.

The point is, he missed Aziraphale.

"Can I offer you some nibbles? I haven't got much in the way of proper food, but the chocolate mascarpone is lovely." Aziraphale moves as to get back up, but Crowley shakes his head.

"Nah. Meant it, what I said." He gestures at the spread in front of them. "I'd rather watch you. Besides," he says, as Aziraphale's blush deepens, "there's a nice port I've been meaning to bring you in the car. Should pair well, I think?"

Another small curve of lips graces Aziraphale's face. "I suppose you may as well stay and drink it, then, you fiend."

Crowley waves a hand lazily in the direction of an empty space on the floor, and all the wine he's brought appears from out of his backseat. Probably a bit much, now that he sees it all in one place, but that's all right. He leaves the plants where they are for now. Aziraphale gets to work pouring wine and cutting himself a slice of cake, which he leaves on the table after a moment of consideration, and then rejoins him on the sofa, closer than before. Their legs are touching all the way down, hip to ankle.

"Well, this is a right mess we're all in," Aziraphale says.

"Yeah. Least we have each other." Crowley holds his glass up. "Cheers, I suppose."

They toast, more solemnly than usual, and sip in silence. The port is sweeter than what they usually drink, but Crowley finds he doesn't mind it.

Aziraphale takes another sip, then sets it down and swivels to face Crowley. "You said, before. On the telephone."

"Yeah?" Crowley prompts.

"I—" Aziraphale's hands flutter fascinatingly in his lap while he screws up his nerve. "I believe—the exact phrasing you used was 'slither over'?"

Crowley makes a face. "No. 'M not going serpentine today. Too much work."

"No!" Aziraphale exclaims. "That's not at all—I just meant—maybe, if you like, you could. Come a little closer?"

Then it's Crowley's turn to twist in his seat, agog, and look at Aziraphale, who is patting his thigh invitingly and raising his eyebrows, as if beckoning Crowley.

Crowley doesn't need to be asked twice. He sets his drink down and swings one leg over Aziraphale, then moves until he's settled properly in his lap, facing Aziraphale and cushioned by those pillowy thighs. "Is this what you wanted?"

Aziraphale nods, but he looks tense and panicky now that it's happening; Crowley can relate. They sit there for a moment, breathing in each other's air, not speaking. Aziraphale shifts underneath him, and Crowley thinks he's about to be pushed away, maybe even asked to leave, when Aziraphale, daringly, rests his hands on Crowley's waist, lightly moving there.

"If you could—" Aziraphale makes a tiny, self-deprecating moue with his mouth that Crowley just knows is an act of some kind, but at least it's getting him to calm down. "I can't reach my plate now. And it really is quite good cake, if I do say so. Could you just—"

The side of Crowley's mouth quirks up. "Sure, angel." He bends backwards to retrieve the china plate, trying to look cool and graceful and not like someone whose heart is hammering in his chest, and succeeds in nearly tumbling off Aziraphale's lap. Luckily, Aziraphale is there to catch him.

"Are you quite all right?" Aziraphale asks.

"Yeah," Crowley says, a little dazed because Aziraphale then starts patting him down, ostensibly to check that Crowley hasn't injured himself. He looks more himself now, tension drained away in the face of Crowley's near mishap. "Fine. Er. Got your cake."

"Oh, jolly good," Aziraphale says, beaming at him. He stills the movement of his hands but seems loathe to actually pull away and take the plate. Crowley, with another glance at Aziraphale's face, makes an executive decision for both of them.

He considers the fork, first. But the angle's not that great, and given the givens, that approach feels a little impersonal. He discards it on the table and feels Aziraphale's pulse jump beneath him.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale's voice is a little breathless, a little uncertain. A lot of longing. Well, let it never be said that the two of them didn't explore new pursuits during the lockdown.

With a deep breath to steady himself, Crowley breaks off a piece of the chocolate cake and presses it against Aziraphale's lips. Aziraphale has to suck in a breath of his own, but he accepts the bite readily enough after that, with a little hum of pleasure as he tastes it from Crowley's fingers.

The sound emboldens Crowley; he repeats the action and is undone by Aziraphale's soft mouth, his half-lidded eyes, the swipe of his pink tongue as he catches a bit of frosting off the side of Crowley's finger. The _sounds_ he makes. Crowley, embarrassingly, lets out a soft moan of his own and is rewarded by Aziraphale gripping him tighter and gazing at him from under his lashes.

Honestly, it's all a little much for him, more than Crowley ever thought he'd get. Enough for his fantasies to live on for _years_ , maybe decades, but then Aziraphale speaks.

"Are you sure you don't want some?" Aziraphale asks. He's still a little nervous, Crowley can tell, but he keeps his composure, so Crowley does, too. "You'd like it, I think."

Crowley swallows hard and passes him the plate. "Oh, all right. Go on, then."

Aziraphale, delicately, breaks off a bite of cake and offers it to Crowley, who leans forward and eats it from his hand. The chocolate is rich and dark on his tongue—Aziraphale, genuinely, might have discovered a hidden talent—but it's nothing compared to the salt and ozone of Aziraphale's skin, which Crowley couldn't resist tasting. Judging from the way Aziraphale's eyes go dark and then flutter closed, that was the right call.

"Crowley," Aziraphale says, low and soft. "Oh—this is rather uncharted territory." His eyes are wide when he opens them again, and his hand still resting on Crowley's side has slipped down to his hip, holding him there.

"Yeah," Crowley says. His voice sounds rough in his ears; he swallows again, takes the plate from Aziraphale's hovering hand and sets it on the floor, returns to lay one hand on Aziraphale's side and cup his jaw with the other. "Yeah. It's good. As long as you think so, that is."

Aziraphale hesitates a half beat longer, then draws Crowley in with his free hand on the back of Crowley's neck. They rest their foreheads together, just a breath away from one another.

"Oh," Aziraphale murmurs, "I rather think you ought to kiss me."

Crowley has another smart remark on the tip of his tongue, but it dies away in favor of tilting his head and pressing in. He slides his mouth against Aziraphale's, slips his tongue between Aziraphale's lips, kisses him with everything he's got. In case this is the only chance he ever gets, he wants it to count for something.

It feels like they've always done this. He wants to _keep_ doing it. Aziraphale kisses back, slow and full of purpose, and his hand moves up to run through Crowley's hair while the other holds onto Crowley's hip, like Crowley might fly away.

When they finally pull back, Aziraphale looks flushed and happy, and oh, Crowley wants to make him look like that forever. He wants to do it thirty seconds from now, and in a few months when they're allowed to go out again, and for the rest of eternity.

"So," Aziraphale says, "hunkering down here for the foreseeable future, then?"

Crowley feels the grin spread across his face. "If you'll have me. I did bring you all that wine. And you don't mind the plants, I hope?"

"Naturally," Aziraphale says. He looks only mildly surprised when Crowley snaps his fingers and the plants languishing in his car appear in the bookshop. "Can't have you traveling back and forth all the time, after all. More port?"

Another ridiculous smile threatens to overtake Crowley's expression as he accepts his glass, and he can't even be bothered to care. The world might be in a state at the moment, but humanity will weather it, and he and Aziraphale are going to be all right, right there alongside them.


End file.
